


School Days

by Adry1412



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Bittersweet Ending, Childhood Friends, I'm sorry if I make you guys sad, M/M, ghost character, pre-story character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 10:58:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6563521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adry1412/pseuds/Adry1412
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick doesn't remember a lot from his childhood. It's just a cluster fuck of vague memories of his old school, his grandparents house, and his own seemingly never ending back yard.<br/>But he does remember one thing. Well, one person. Daryl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	School Days

Rick doesn't remember a lot from his childhood. It's just a cluster fuck of vague memories of his old school, his grandparents house, and his own seemingly never ending back yard.  
But he does remember one thing. Well, one person. Daryl.

\---

His school was small, just an old house renovated into an old fashion school house. It was even decorated with a fake bell, with a long rope for the teacher to pull and call the children in, hanging in the front to give it "age". While the school house was relatively new, the building itself was as old as their sweaty, southern town. The red of the building almost rustic in the humid air brought on by the swamp nearby. Red clay surrounded the area and inched up the asphalt that held a jungle gym for the children, the tar almost unbearably hot in the summer time.

But Rick never minded, he didn't play with the other kids, always preferring to stand by the old cemetery just a few yards from the recess area. A simple wooden fence separated the two areas, old and splintered, weather worn to the point of being in shambles with some boards falling off.  
Sure, it might have been a little creepy to the other kids, but Rick wasn't afraid, he enjoyed leaning on the fence, reading the names on the old headstones and imaging what their lives and death might have been like. Were they rich? Were they poor? Did they have big families or little ones? Was death painful? Peaceful?

He remembers the day he meet Daryl. School had just started and he found himself at that fence during recess, looking over the wood at the bright blue eyes staring back at him. He had smiled, a new kid! Rick knew every kid in town, small towns with curious adults made it easy to get bored of the same 23 classmates very quickly.  
But Daryl was different. He was small, thin and pale with sleepy looking eyes and a mess of brown hair that seem to never stay down right. He wore a long sleeved black shirt and Rick remembers wondering if he was hot, lord knows he was in his plain light blue tee shirt.  
"Want some grapes?"  
The boy had smiled sweetly and nodded, climbing through the fence and sitting next to Rick on the cool, hay like grass. They shared grapes and names and when his teacher rang that brass bell, Rick hopped off only to see his new friend was gone.  
He asked the teacher who claimed Rick had made an imaginary friend who probably had to leave cause it was time for school now. He didn't buy it, he knew Daryl was real.

\---

Rick remembers waiting all morning, every morning, for recess so that he could spend time with his new, quiet friend. The boy had only whispered his name, a simple "Daryl" and had mostly spoken through nods and smiles. He was strange, different than all the other kids in his class, and Rick liked it.  
He assumed Daryl didn't go to school, that he lived nearby but the way the bright blue eyes would turn dark grey when asked where exactly.. Rick had dropped the topic. He told Daryl that he lived down the road, left on Chestnut and right on Carmine. 

They talked about their families, Daryl smiling when talking about his big brother. He was as tall as a house with big arms to fight off demons and monsters that lurked around the bayou. Rick was amazed and wanted desperately to meet the man Daryl spoke so highly of. But the boy had waved his hand, saying Merle had left home years ago to fight in the war and wasn't back yet. The proud smile vanished when Rick mentioned that his father was a cop and he wanted to be a cop, replaced by a look of fear in Daryl's eyes. He had asked what Daryl's father did and the boy had gotten up, saying he had to run home to check on things. Rick watched as his friend ran to the trees and shot one last smile over his slender shoulder before disappearing

They spoke of the swamp, Daryl telling his stories that his older brother had told him, in a hushed whisper, of the monsters and demons that wandered around it, some just on the edges of bayou. Rick was afraid but fascinated, his friend telling him about the skeleton hands that would drag little kids down and demons that would eat them up. Telling him of tall creatures, as tall as the gnarly trees, that stood and waited for people to walk by under them, their quick, sharp teeth snatching them up and leaving nothing but bones. Rick believed it all, every tall tale of monsters and secret cabins where murderers lived, blood soaking their lawns and rotting bodies stinking up the air, the bayou covering the putrid smell.  
And every day the bell rang and Rick was forced to say goodbye to his raspy voiced friend, watching as he climbed through the fence and disappeared by the tree line just past the cemetery. He wanted to tell his teacher, to tell his parents about his friend, but Daryl had told him not too. That he'd get in trouble if his father found out about his outings, so he didn't, for Daryl's sake.  
So that's how the days had gone, day after day, week after week. They would sit by their favorite fence post, large willow tree hanging over and casting shade for the two blue eyed boys. They shared ghost stories and grapes, Rick pleased that he had finally made a friend, even if no one else wanted to see him, even if the teacher's eyes skipped right over Daryl and would land on Rick, sad frown ghosting over her lips for reasons Rick couldn't understand.

\---

Rick remembers the last time he saw his dear friend. Shane had moved to town, tall and broad, and they had become instant friends. Thick as thieves while they sat next to each other, telling jokes and passing notes in class. They had spent recess together, tossing a football back and forth by the front of the school and Rick had completely forgotten about Daryl.  
Days were spent with Shane, playing tag or ball and sharing snacks and drinks while talking about everything and nothing. Nights spent at each other's house, hiding under the covers with flashlights and comic books, cold pizza snuck upstairs from their kitchens. Being young may have had its benefits, but children tend to forget one another and move on to better things and people without even batting an eye.

He'd forgotten about his friend until they locked eyes. Rick's bright blues meeting dark, tear filled ones. Dark bruises littered the boy's face and neck, almost like a collar, dark and purple. His nose and lip split open and bleeding, his trademark black shirt torn and barely hanging on by threads. He had ran to the fence as tears fell from the quiet boy's eyes, landing hard on the ground and making a noise similar to thunder echoing in Rick's ears, and he was afraid, deeply and truly afraid.  
His friend had turned and ran away, one leg limping behind the other on its way to the tree line, blood spilling down the back of his thigh and to his small pale ankle, disappearing before Rick could even consider jumping the fence and following.

So he stood, eyes locked on the crooked trees. "Why are you running, man?"  
"Daryl.."  
"Who's Daryl?" Shane looked confused, large chocolate eyes darting between his friend and the trees.  
Anger boiled in his veins, fighting the fear and concern for his pale friend. He wasn't angry at Shane for not understanding, he had never explained or even thought to mention the boy. He was angry at myself for forgetting his dear friend. Days of ghost stories and bright blue eyes crashed into him in waves, wetting his eyes and making him wipe at them furiously. Why would he leave? Why was he beat up? Who could he tell? He was lost and confused and Shane had held him while he sobbed, the teacher asking a million questions Rick refused to answer.

\---

Twenty years does a lot to a person.  
Rick can't help but smile when him and Shane pull up to their old town, the same rickety buildings welcoming them home. Shane had laughed when Rick brought it up. Why go back to that dust bowl town? Once they had had a taste of the world outside the clay covered bubble that embraced their old stomping grounds, they hadn't looked back.  
High school a few towns over, college and police academy just outside of Atlanta, a home in the small suburbs, marriage and child adoption, it had all happened so quick. Twenty years seems like nothing when compressed into vague memories and birthday celebrations.

But now they're back, Carl and Judith in the back seat, talking about something or another. Wedding rings sit on their fingers and Rick's smile is meet with Shane's disbelief filled one, white teeth and raised eyebrows telling Rick everything he needs to know.  
He knows it's ridiculous but they needed a small vacation and the small town was on the way to the beach and their small beach house. Well, maybe not on the way, but only an hour out of the way. Shane had scoffed but accepted it.

Nostalgia is a warped reality.  
Where Rick remembered brightly colored houses, now stood greying, ivy covered shacks. The bright candy shop was coated in chipping paint, the neon sign half gone and sun bleached posters stuck onto cracked windows. Their old school now lives up to its name. Bell busted and swinging the breeze, the rope gone, and red paint peeling off the sides, making it seem more like a horror movie set than an actual school children once stayed at.  
"Pull over."  
Shane stops the car on the pot hole ridden road next to the building, smaller than Rick remembers, but then again, he too had once been small.

Shane gets the kids out of the van and begins telling them about when they had meet all those years ago, passing notes and telling jokes under their breaths but Rick just stares at the school. Memories flooding back and making his knees weak when he looks at the cemetery, simple broken fence separating it from the asphalt and rusting jungle gym, all dyed red with the Georgia clay.  
The willow tree is nothing more than a stump now, no shady branches where he used to sit and eat grapes with his long forgotten friend. Bright blue eyes and long black sleeves fill his mind, making his head spin as he walks to and over the fence, standing where Daryl had when they first meet.

Gravestones litter the ground, some sunken, other broken or flat on their backs. Names weathered by humid swamp air and dates almost illegible. Wild grass and flowers grow around the area, purple and pink flowers swaying lightly in the warm air. But one stone seems to jump at him. Small and broken with a long eroded lamb statue sitting on top.  
Tears reach his eyes when he recognizes the name and he bends, fingering the shallow letters and dates of birth and death. It's old, older than Rick himself and his mind spins again. How?  
Daryl Dixon  
1904-1911

He remembers the bruises, the raspy voice of his bright eyed friend. The tall tales of monsters and murderers in cabins, children taken and devoured by rabid beasts. The older brother going to a war that was no longer happening. The blinding smiles shared between partners that spoke of their connection where the school and graveyard meet.  
Shane's calling his name. He turns and watches his family wave to him. Two beautiful children and a loving husband. He remembers the days he and Daryl had sat out here, talking about the people's lives and wither or not they had big families or small ones. Had they died peacefully or in pain. Were they happy or sad.

A handful of wild flowers is plucked, Shane staring at him in disbelief, rubbing his head, and Rick places the bundle on the long forgotten grave, grapes from his pocket left next to them. Judy might be upset later when she wants them, but Rick can't bring himself to care when he wipes his tears away and tries to wear his bravest smile for the boy who had smiled brightly at him and shared snacks and stories with him on hot school days.

The walk to the car is surreal, the world seemingly clearer and emptier now. Shane holds his hand and tries to ask what that was all about, but Rick just focuses on the wooden fence as the car jumps to life and starts to take them away from the memory drenched school ground. The world sways as the air fills with static and darkens with an impending storm but Rick can't bring himself to care.  
If they never return, then no one would notice. If Rick never tells his husband about his first best friend, then it won't change a thing.  
And if teary eyes are meet with bright blues hidden under messy brown hair as the car turns back towards the freeway, then no one would have known. And if one last smile is shared between the small pale boy and his now grown friend, then it would have all been worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if I made anyone sad!! I know I write a lot of angst and I'm trying to write happier stuff but until then, here you go!  
> Please comment and let me know what you think! I love you all!! Thank you!!!


End file.
